


Nocte

by LeTempest



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill, Spartacus Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeTempest/pseuds/LeTempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a simple thing, just a strand of black ribbon. Agron doesn’t know why it catches his eye, only that it does and he knows instantly where it belongs. <br/>~*~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocte

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Spartacus Kink Meme over on LJ  
> "Agron/Nasir, the story of Nasir's ribbon"
> 
> ~*~  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Spartacus/any of the characters and this was all done for fun.  
> Also unbetaed, just FYI

It’s a simple thing, just a strand of black ribbon. Agron doesn’t know why it catches his eye, only that it does and he knows instantly where it belongs.

            He finds it in a place most expected, burdened with a number of bright baubles in some abandoned villa or another. The dark color stands out and when he untangles it he’s sees that it’s never been worn. He’s never touched something so fine in the whole of his life. He smiles, folding it carefully, tucking it safely away inside within his braces.

            It’s two days before they return to the main camp, back to Nasir’s side. The Syrian will be in a foul mood, he knows. He does not like being left behind, for good reason. He’s become quiet the warrior. But the fact remains that, fighter though he may now be, there is a shortage of those with such a mind for running the camp, who know the way of numbers and how to allocate supplies, how to assure all needs are tended, took keep their mobile army running smoothly. So when Spartacus requested he stay behind on this raid, to aid Naevia, the Syrian had pursed his lips. But he was a good solider and had not fought the order.

            He is always of a mood after he has been left behind, though Agron knows he tries his best not to be. But he worries for his friends and for his lover. And Agron knows there is always some niggling of doubt in the Syrian, that the others do not see him as equal, that there is some part of them that will always see him as a house slave not the brother he has grown to be. Agron does his best to quite such untruth.

            It is dark when they return and he sneaks to their tent, careful and quiet. But not quiet enough. Nasir has the ears of a fox and he turns, on Agron with dagger in his hand, lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to pounce on the intruder. The swift motion upsets the wash bowl, spilling water across his mostly naked torso. Agron can not help the smile that creeps onto his lips at the sight.

            The Syrian sighs, relieved, putting down the blade as the animal growl dissolves into the familiar easy grin.

            “Gone to days, and you return like a thief, sneaking about, seeking to startled the life from me,” he chuckled.

            “Apologizes, I did not mean to intrude upon deep thoughts.”

            Nasir came to Agron’s arms, a hand resting on his armored chest.

            “I can think of many ways to see that you are forgiven,” the Syrian teased, kissing the underside of Agron’s jaw, “The nights are could without you to warm me.”

Agron obeys the commands, because he too is a good solider,  and his heart will only ever find itself in the service of this Syrian boy. Their coupling is slow and passionate, drawing out the touches and kisses and breathless whisperings of each others names. And when it is done, they lay tangled together, each listening to the others breath.

            “I brought you something,” Agron says after a time, his voice a warm breath against Nasir’s ear.

            The Syrian sighs, smiling sleepily.

            “You shower me with gifts to find my favor,” he teases.

            Agron chuckles.

            “I know you too well.”

            Nasir makes an annoyed sound when Agron detangles himself from their bed, and the boy is forced to burrow deeper beneath their bed furs to chase of the chill. Agron returns with the length of ribbon hidden in his palm. He coaxes his lover to sit, and begins to work his fingers through the soft, dark hair. Nasir makes a please sound, eyes sliding closed. Since Agron discovered the Syrian’s affection for having his hair touched, the German takes special care to attend it as often as he can.

            Agron’s twists the dark tresses back from Nasir’s face, as the Syrian taught him to. They aren’t so fine as when Nasir does them himself, but the will do. He secures them with the ribbon and smiles at his work.

            Nasir laughs.

            “You bring me lengths of ribbon from your adventures,” he asks, “Am a I child now?”

            Agron noses the furs away from a dark shoulder, pressing a kiss their.

            “It reminded me of you, hidden away in some dark corner of a villa. It was hidden beneath roman trinkets, weighed down by them. But the light hit it just right and I could see the blackness of the cloth, and it glittered like raven’s feathers. Just like your hair. And I knew it was meant to belong to you.”


End file.
